


Hunting

by AngeNoir



Series: Inktober 2018 [10]
Category: The Losers (2010)
Genre: Anthropomorphic, Character Study, F/M, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-08-02 20:52:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16312502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngeNoir/pseuds/AngeNoir
Summary: Aisha grew up self-reliant.Imagine her surprise when she realized a group was... not that bad.





	Hunting

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so far behind. :( I'm hoping to try and catch up, but that means these are all going to be so short.

When she was very young, Aisha could remember sitting in her bed, covers draped around her waist, pillows being fluffed behind her by her mother.

“ _We walk on silent feet,”_ her mother had whispered into her ear, “ _and hunt in the shadows. We move like wind, like darkness, like death.”_  

Aisha had flicked her ears, felt the blankets beneath her paws. Every night, her mother said the same thing, and to a young child it seemed like a prayer, a wish breathed into existence through repetition.

Then Aisha was older, more able to understand the words and the meanings behind them, and then she thought her mother was pretentious. She didn’t think much of it, ignored it as she ran through dusty, desert streets, wild and free with the other neighborhood kids and laughing at the elders who thought they knew better but clearly didn’t.

Then Aisha was nearly an adult, throwing her mother’s words back in her face, and coming home from staying out all night.  _You don’t know anything!_  Aisha had shouted, screamed. 

And  _then._

Then she came home, found nothing but broken cookware and torn blankets, a faint trace of blood in the corner of the floor.

Nothing.

She spent her teenage years forging a name for herself, becoming terrifying, larger than life, a spirit that crept into people’s houses and made off with whatever she pleased - information, more than anything else. Information made her rich, helped her track down her father, helped her track down the men who could tell her what  _happened_  to her father.

They were a ragtag group, two bears, a lynx, a wolf, and a deer - all of them lost, all of them looking to be used. Why not, she told herself, remembering her mother’s words, her mother’s caution. She would move like darkness, like death. They would not find anything she did not want them to find.

But as time wore on, as she became closer, fonder, as the odd group became a pride she could see herself a part of, she had to wonder. She was looking for her father’s killer, so she could find out what her father had that was so important, in hopes that it would lead her to some scrap or clue about her mother. She was so focused, intent on her prey, that it was... blocking everything else out. It was closing her in.

And she wondered, as she looked up at those gentle doe eyes, the floppy ears and soft muzzle, her claws trailing over Clay’s chest, what she would do when she was no longer welcome.


End file.
